


Lessons Taught

by JennaMoon



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fires, Flashbacks, Jaskier is alone, Lost Love, M/M, Mentioned Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Post-1x06, Roach is mentioned too, Sad!Jaskier, Wilderness Survival, cute kisses, post dragon hunt, trap setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22646836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JennaMoon/pseuds/JennaMoon
Summary: Jaskier finds himself alone in the forest, after Geralt tells him to leave.Too bad it's Geralt's lessons in survival that keep him going.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 18
Kudos: 256





	Lessons Taught

The wind grew fierce, a blazing chill catching itself on the ripped sleeves of Jaskier’s doublet. The bard muttered to himself, tear-stained face scrunched from the attack of the cold.

“Stupid fucking Witcher.” He spat, before feeling his knees give out from under him. With a thud, he hit the ground, hands coming out just in time to stop the bard from hitting his head on a tree trunk. With slight struggle, Jaskier shifted around the rough stump, shielding himself from the bite of the wind.

He was losing sun. Fast. He took the backpack from his back (he’d taken it off Roach, who in fairness seemed quite eager for it to be gone) and untied its leather straps. He gave a joyous yell as he gripped the iron and flint in his hands, pressing the cool metal, tear-drop shaped, down against his skin. He was quick to find the pouch of wood shavings and hay, placing them about the floor.

 _“You need dry wood or straw for the base. You can’t just use green wood. It’s too damp.’_ Geralt’s voice whispered, in his ear. He could almost feel the stray locks of milk hair tickle his cheek, the steady, warm breath on his neck.

“Dry wood.” Jaskier affirmed, before scrambling forward. “Dry wood… aha!” He leaped towards an upturned tree. He pryed at the bark, feeling the aged, dead wood fall apart in his hands. He felt the soft outside of the log mush inside his nails, in the ridges between follicle and skin, still he resisted the urge to call out for Geralt’s help. With a grunt, the upper later peeled off, Jaskier dropping it to the ground. He ran his digits along the dry insides of the tree before feeling for his dagger, the steel blade against his thigh.

 _‘Don’t cut your fucking fingers off, be fluid with the gliding.’_ Jaskier nodded at the wind’s surprisingly Witcher-y tone. He made quick work of slicing ample-sized chunks of wood out the decaying log, collecting it in his shirt. Soon enough, he felt as though he had enough. He made his way back to the large, upright tree that offered such great protection in the cold.

With a prayer, Jaskier glanced up at the sky, the red hues shifting surely into a blackness. “Fuck.”

It didn’t take long to get the fire going; he held the iron in his hand, swiftly grinding it against the flint. After three harsh runs the hay below finally caught ablaze, and the wood caught on too.

And it was warm. Jaskier rested his hands to the side of the flames, digging the softened bark out from between his nails.

He’d have maybe 40 minutes of sunlight. Water? He still had a half-full leather flask of the stuff, so that was fine.

“Food?” Jaskier pondered, growing quiet once more. He didn’t have to eat that evening. _‘Set up a trap. Snare.’_ Geralt’s voice was back again.

He knew the Witcher was right. The fucker wasn’t even there but Jaskier still was following his orders. With a sigh, he looked around. _‘String, Jaskier. A loop in a loop, slipknot it.’_

He could do that, he reasoned. He could do that. Jaskier tore the twine from the ties of his trousers. He could find other ways of keeping them up, he knew that. He only knew how to make a snare from string or metal wire. And he didn’t have the latter.

Jaskier imagined the strong gaze of yellow on his hands, guiding him. Rough hands, over his, showing him how to tie the snare. He could fall back so easily against the warmth. Geralt wouldn’t even feel his extra weight sink into his stomach. Jaskier let himself rest his aching spine but all he felt in return was the cold split of bark.

Once the snare was made, and placed, the sun was essentially vanished from the earth, bringing about moonlight instead. The fire was still blazing and Jaskier bought his lute to cradle, plucking at the seven strings one by one, tuning the instrument carefully.

When it came to opening his mouth, he found there was nothing he could say, or sing… Instead, another sob left his throat. Jaskier hit at his knees, face snarled.

“Don’t cry over a man who won’t do the same thing, Jask!” He chided himself, running a tattered sleeve over his face. “He’s not worth it.” With a sullen sniff, Jaskier took the lute’s strap off his shoulder and put the instrument on the floor. He pulled a blue sheet, usually used between Roach’s back and the sweaty, itchy leather of the saddle, over himself. He focused on the fire in front of him, watching the licks of pure power dance. The curves and sweeps of orange into red…

He felt the ghost of a hand on his hip and another run through his hair.

_‘And now you know the basics of survival.’ Geralt whispered. Jaskier turned to face him, his own vision half obscured by the furs he rested on._

_‘I’ll forget it all, if the time comes.’ He replied, laughing as the Witcher lay down beside him, another fur covering the two. Geralt moved a hand to his cheek, wiping at a speck of dirt from their earlier lessons._

_‘You won’t. Not when you truly need to remember.’ He replied with confidence._

_Jaskier smiled at him, stealing a soft peck on the lips._

_‘I barely remember a thing now. A skid knot.’ He snorted, pressing his body against the thick warmth of Geralt’s. ‘Besides, I don’t need to know.’_

_‘Oh, really?’ Geralt was stroking the bridge of Jaskier’s nose now, eliciting a yawn from his bard. Jaskier playfully battered the hand away, a smile on his face._

_‘Of course I don’t. I’ll stay by your side. Always.’_

_It was Geralt who smirked at that, giving Jaskier a deep, strong kiss._

And in the cold of the night, with waning fire and slip sheet as comfort, Jaskier couldn’t control the shatter that sounded in his heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Ouch my heart.


End file.
